


Priorities and the Choices We Make

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Assault, Conversations, Destruction, Gun Violence, Guns, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the events of The Big Bang Job.  On their way to confront Moreau at the airfield, Nate and Eliot have their first heart-to-heart talk about what happened in the warehouse and what it means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Priorities and the Choices We Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valawenel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valawenel/gifts).



> For valawenel. Some day I will avoid leaping on the chance to examine the warehouse firefight and how it changed Nate and Eliot's relationship forever.
> 
> Today is not that day. Tomorrow doesn't look good either.

“We need to hurry. Moreau will be attempting to leave Washington now that the Ram’s Horn sale is complete and he believes you to be dead.”

Gunfire could still be heard inside the warehouse, following an explosion that had aged Nate a decade in a matter of seconds. _Come on, dammit!_

The Italian lay a slender hand on his arm. “He was very brave to buy us time to get away. You wouldn’t want to dishonor his sacrifice knowing what is at stake, would you?”

Nate jerked away from her. “Non parlare di cose che non capisci,” he spat. Eliot couldn’t be dead – even knowing the odds, his brain simply refused to accept it. _Come on you stubborn son of a bitch. It’s not supposed to end like this._ His hands clenched into fists at his sides. _You’re not supposed to die like this._ Not for him. Deep down Nate understood that this was the shape their relationship had somehow taken when he wasn’t paying attention, but that didn’t mean he was ready for somebody like _Eliot_ to die for somebody like him.

Flames licked at every opening now, transforming the interior of the warehouse into an inferno. Nate could hear sirens in the distance. _”Last time I checked, that’s my job.”_

“Che io sia dannato,” the woman standing behind him breathed. _”I’ll be damned.”_ It was then Nate realized the sound of shrieking metal that he could hear over the roar of the flames was actually one of the exterior doors being kicked off its hinges.

Heart suddenly racing, he turned and lobbed his keys at her. “You drive. Get as close to the building as you can.”

She caught them, but looked startled. “You don’t even know…” But behind her someone was stumbling clear of the fire – a figure Nate knew as well as he knew his own.

“Drive, or I will kill you myself and damn the consequences,” he growled, letting her see just how serious he was. “Once we have Eliot, then we will go after Moreau.”

Eliot managed approximately a hundred yards stumbling under his own power before going to his knees. In the grass. Nate didn’t wait for the SUV to stop – as soon as the Italian slowed to a safe enough crawl, he barreled out of the vehicle, running to his hitter’s side.

“You were supposed to go,” Eliot said, swaying almost drunkenly as Nate dropped beside him. “Get Moreau. Finish this.”

Nate huffed out a bitter chuckle as he searched the younger man for signs of injury. “Without you? Not a chance.” Eliot’s clothing was largely streaked with soot and oil stains, but in the midst of all the grime Nate spotted a bright splash of red. “You think I’m brave enough to tell Parker I left you behind, you do not know me at all. Now before I haul you up, how much of that red stuff is yours?”

Bringing up his wounds seemed to refocus Eliot’s awareness of how badly he was hurt. “S’all mine,” he slurred. “Get on my right. Let me do the work.”

Pushing to his feet, Nate did as he was told. Even though he didn’t like the idea of moving the hitter, he braced himself and let Eliot use him as a ladder to get to his feet. “Two bullets,” Eliot said, in answer to Nate’s unspoken questions. “Both still inside – you ready to pay me back for that bank job?”

He took a step and Nate moved with him. “You picked up a gun to save my life,” Nate said softly. “Figure you can pretty much ask me for anything right now and it’s yours.”

Nate felt Eliot hesitate for a fraction of a second, but the hitter didn’t say anything else until he was safely in the back seat of the SUV. “You are too soft,” the Italian said as Nate clambered into the car after Eliot. “You need to be more ruthless to bring down Moreau.”

“Do not talk about what you do not understand,” Nate said coldly – repeating what he’d told her earlier, but in English this time. “If you still want to intercept Moreau, I’d suggest you get us moving.”

Eliot made a soft pain noise as the SUV lurched into motion. “Tell me what to do,” Nate said, turning his entire attention to the young man’s condition.

“First aid kit,” Eliot said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Black duffel.” He grimaced as Nate reached over the seat for the bag. “You’re not going to be able to take the bullets out now, but we need to get both wounds sterilized and bandaged. I’m no good to you if I keep bleeding like this.”

Now it was Nate’s turn to hesitate. “I’m not an idiot,” he said. “I get that we can’t take you to a hospital to get this treated, but you do understand that you’re out of this fight? Eliot?”

Eliot’s nostrils flared briefly, and Nate saw something dark and determined lurking just behind his eyes. “Mercs, Nate,” he said. “He sent a pack of mercenaries and Chapman to take me out – do you even _know_ how insulting that is?” He shook his head. “No. Damien and I have our own score to settle before this is done. Get the alcohol – you’re going to want to deal with the shoulder first.”

“You want painkillers?” Nate asked, digging through the kit for what he thought he might need in addition to the alcohol.

When he looked up again, Eliot was grinning at him. “God, you’re adorable sometimes.”

Suitably chastened, Nate finished locating the supplies he was most likely to need. “Do I have to remind you not to hit me?” he asked as he reached for the collar of Eliot’s shirt.

Sighing softly, the hitter closed his eyes. “Just do it.”

The bleeding had mercifully slowed a lot, but there was still a steady trickle of red coming from the hole in Eliot’s flesh. Nate cleaned and bandaged the area as best he could, putting pressure on the bandage until Eliot reacted. “Sorry,” he said, taping the white square in place.

Eliot shook his head. “It’s fine. Other hole’s in my gut, just over my right hip. I don’t think either one hit anything vital.”

“But you don’t know for certain,” Nate said as he eased the bottom of Eliot’s shirt up and out of the way.

“You want certain boss, you _are_ in the wrong business.”

Silence fell between them as Nate worked. He was grateful the Italian had decided to give them what privacy she could – Nate was determined to finish this business with Moreau as much to get her out of their lives than any greater good they might be able to accomplish at this point.

It wasn’t until he was putting the second bandage in place that it occurred to him what he needed to say to his hitter. “I’m probably not going to say this right,” he said, looking into Eliot’s pain-fogged eyes, “but when you picked up those guns I felt like you were showing me something. Something beyond a promise that you were going to make sure I walked out of that warehouse alive.”

A muscle in Eliot’s cheek twitched reflexively, telegraphing that even though his choice of words might not have been perfect, Nate had been on the right track. “I haven’t used a gun since just before I left Moreau’s service,” Eliot said at last. “That…incident…that I mentioned back in the park. It forced me to take stock of what I was doing with my life. I knew that no matter what other choices I made for myself, nobody and nothing was worth becoming that man again.”

_”Eliot, you’re not that man anymore.”_

His own words, answering Sophie: _”He might have to be.”_ Horrified at what he might have inadvertently wrought, Nate started to apologize but Eliot shook his head. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it – you were just being dramatic for effect.” He paused. “It got me thinking though, and I realized that for you…for _this_ …I could do it. I _would_ do it.”

Stunned into momentary silence, Nate thought about what Eliot was really telling him – everything it meant. “I keep coming back to the idea that I’m not worth it,” he said finally. “I know that sounds disrespectful, or like I don’t appreciate what you’re saying and how big a deal it is and believe me Eliot – I get that part of it.” He shook his head when Eliot started to speak. “Let me finish. Watching you pick up those guns was one of the most terrifying things I have ever witnessed. I don’t ever want you to have to do that again – and definitely not for me. I want the man you _are_ , not whatever you were for Damien Moreau.”

He was ready for Eliot to begin arguing with him, but not prepared to see the hitter _smiling_ at him. “The very fact that you don’t want me to carry for you – especially now that you understand what it means – is why I can, if the situation calls for it.” He reached out and covered Nate’s hand with his own. “It’s _my_ choice, not someone else’s, and that makes all the difference in the world.” He paused, trying to gauge Nate’s reaction. “This is a heavier conversation than we should probably be having right now, but do you get what I’m trying to say?”

“I get it,” Nate said. “And even though I agree it’s probably heavier than we should be thinking right now, I’m glad we talked.” He risked a glance forward out the windshield and saw that they were approaching an airfield.

“Moreau first, Nate,” Eliot said. “The rest will take care of itself.”


End file.
